


Another Sidewalk Café

by tablelamp



Category: Roman Holiday (1953)
Genre: Catching Up, F/M, Memories, Reigniting a Romance, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 02:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablelamp/pseuds/tablelamp
Summary: Whenever Joe was traveling, he often ate or got coffee at a sidewalk cafe.  No matter how the cafes varied, and they did vary, they all reminded him of one specific sidewalk cafe and one specific girl.  He knew it was foolhardy, but he supposed it was a way to try to relive the past, or to call her back to him.  Never mind how impossible it was.  He knew that already.Of course, sometimes impossible things did happen.  He knew that too.  Maybe that was why he knew she was there in Paris before he even saw her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/gifts).

Whenever Joe was traveling, he often ate or got coffee at a sidewalk café. No matter how the cafés varied, and they did vary, they all reminded him of one specific sidewalk café and one specific girl. He knew it was foolhardy, but he supposed it was a way to try to relive the past, or to call her back to him. Never mind how impossible it was. He knew that already.

Of course, sometimes impossible things did happen. He knew that too. Maybe that was why he knew she was there in Paris before he even saw her.

Afterwards, he couldn't say what it was that had alerted him. It would've made a good story to claim he'd recognized her perfume or the sound of her walk, though both would likely have changed in the years between this meeting and their last one. Or he could've credited his journalism skills by saying he had known she was in Paris, but that wasn't true either. He was in Paris as a reporter, and hadn't had time to focus on news stories other than the ones he was reporting. He hadn't even seen her reflection in the café window beside him. One moment he'd been sitting drinking his coffee, and in the next moment, he was mysteriously but completely sure that she was standing right behind him.

"Hello, Mr. Bradley."

Joe smiled, turning to look over his left shoulder, and there she was, Queen Ann, wearing a stylish coat and a scarf over her hair. Her smile was shy, as though she weren't entirely sure he'd be happy to see her. He stood, nodding as a small symbol of the more formal respect they both knew he should technically be showing her. "Hello, Anya." 

Her eyes seemed to light at the nickname. "It's been a long time since anyone's called me that." She gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the table. "May I join you?"

"Please," Joe said, crossing to the other side of the table to help her with her chair before sitting down himself. "What brings you to Paris?"

Ann laughed. "A goodwill tour."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all. I've been appointed a UNICEF Goodwill Ambassador," Ann said.

"That's quite the honor," Joe said.

"I don't think anyone expected me to take my work for them as seriously as I do," Ann said. "But if children can have food and grow up healthy because of something I did, I consider that a very good use of my time."

"I'm not surprised," Joe said. "You've always had a gift for the unexpected."

Ann was clearly fighting back a smile. "In different ways now than in the past."

"Oh, absolutely," Joe said cheerfully. Then more seriously, he added, "It's good to see you again."

Ann looked about to reply, but the waiter emerged from the café and asked if the lady would like to order anything.

"Let me think," Joe said, giving Ann a mischievous look. "Champagne?"

"Not today," Ann said, amused. She turned to the waiter. "_Un thé, s'il vous plaît._"

"_Oui, madame_," the waiter said, hurrying away.

Ann gave Joe a rueful look. "These days, I'm a _madame_."

"Not at all," Joe said. "You'd have to have grown older for that."

Ann's expression softened. "Dear Joe." She rested her hand atop his, but only for a moment. "And what about you?"

It took Joe a minute to answer, because he was trying to remember if she'd ever called him Joe before. He didn't think so. "What about me?"

"Why are you in Paris?" 

"Oh, I'm here in my official capacity," Joe said. "Reporting on the student protests."

Ann nodded. "They seem quite serious."

"To me too," Joe said, "and I think to the students most of all."

Ann looked worried. "You'll be careful?"

She worried about him. He hadn't known she still worried about him. "Of course."

"Good," she said with a resolute nod. He imagined she'd had to use that nod a lot in her line of work.

They sat in comfortable silence until the waiter brought Ann's tea, wishing her a pleasant morning before departing.

"I'm sure by now you've heard about Eric," Ann said, staring into her tea rather than looking at Joe.

Joe had. "Yes, and I'm sorry."

"It was a diplomatic marriage," Ann said, eyes lifting to Joe's face. "Not a love match."

Joe looked back at her. "Does that make it better or worse?"

"Both," Ann said, "on different days. It was a mistake from the beginning, but we did try."

"I'm sure you did," Joe said.

Ann nodded. "And you?"

"No diplomatic marriages," Joe said lightly.

Ann matched his tone. "Any undiplomatic marriages?"

Joe shook his head. "None of those either."

"Did you ever get that apartment with a kitchen?" Ann asked, and there was so much feeling in her words that Joe thought any eavesdropper would be moved to jump to his feet and declare that he would get an apartment with a kitchen for her, even though no eavesdropper could possibly know why it was important.

"I did," Joe said, "for all the good it does me."

"And do you keep food in it?" Ann teased gently.

"Sometimes I even do that," Joe said. "I'm a terrible cook, but there's food in my kitchen."

Ann smiled. "I'm a good cook."

Joe remembered her telling him so. "Do you get the chance to cook much?" 

"I do when I'm traveling," Ann said. "Sometimes I even take pity on itinerant journalists who can't boil water."

"Is that so," Joe said, wondering if she was getting at what she seemed to be getting at.

"In fact, you're an itinerant journalist, aren't you?" Ann said, expression mischievous.

"There are some who know me by that title," Joe said with a nod. "And if it helps, I'm perfectly willing to volunteer my kitchen."

"Good," Ann said. "You won't mind if I bring my own food?"

Joe couldn't even remember what he had in his kitchen at the moment, or how old it was. "That's probably for the best." He took the small notebook he always carried with him out of his pocket. "I'll write down my address for you."

"Thank you."

Joe finished writing and tore the sheet of paper from his notebook. "Lucky we happened to run into each other."

"It wasn't luck," Ann said. "I always look for you." Before Joe could figure out how to respond to that, she stood, and Joe hurried to stand in turn, almost knocking over his chair. "What time should I arrive?"

"Oh," Joe said. "Would six o'clock be too early?"

For the first time in their conversation, Ann unleashed that dazzling smile he remembered from Rome. It still touched a place deep inside him after years of absence, or maybe because of years of absence.

"No," she said. "Six o'clock would be just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

As the years had passed, Ann had wondered if she'd know Joe Bradley if she ever saw him again. What if he'd changed? Well, of course he had changed; everyone changed over time. The only question was how, and whether it would be in a way that would make him unrecognizable to her. She'd worried about it. What if he was sitting on the street and she passed by without noticing him?

She needn't have worried. She'd known him by the back of his head, the way he sat, the set of his shoulders--all of those were apparently aspects of him she'd learned by heart during their brief time together in Rome, and all were as familiar to her as if she'd seen them the day before. And talking to him had been so easy that it was difficult to believe so much time had passed since their last meeting.

She'd had a long time to think about what she would do if she ever saw him again, and she didn't intend to waste this chance. So later, after she'd given her scheduled speeches and made her scheduled visits, she gave her custom to a number of shops, emerging at last with a collection of parcels wrapped in brown paper. It was nearly six then, so she made her way to Joe's, knocking audibly on his door.

He was smiling when he opened the door. Ann loved the way his smile made the corners of his eyes wrinkle.

"Good evening," he said, his tone lighthearted. "I don't believe I ordered any groceries."

"Too late," Ann said, matching his tone. She'd forgotten his easy way with words, and the way he could lighten a situation with a joke. "They're here now."

Joe stepped aside, gesturing for Ann to come in. She entered his kitchen, looking around to see where she ought to put her ingredients, where the stove was, and where there was space she could work. There was a comparatively plentiful amount of counter space, so she set her parcels to the left of it, furthest from the stove.

"I hope it meets your approval," Joe said, watching her from the doorway, and Ann could hear the undercurrent of worry in his voice. Did he really think she'd object if his kitchen didn't meet her requirements? But after all, she reminded herself, they hadn't known each other so very long. There were sure to be things about each other they didn't know. She glanced at him again, and it occurred to her for the first time that he was nervous. But why should he be, unless--?

"You chose it to please me," she said.

"I did my best," Joe said. "I couldn't exactly ask your opinion."

She moved to him, resting her hand on his arm. "It's perfect." She wanted to kiss him very badly, and probably her younger self would've done it by now. But she was older, and she had learned restraint. Sometimes that was useful, but at times like this, she felt caught in her own good intentions. She pulled back. "I hope you like _coq au vin_."

"Love it," Joe said. "What is it?"

Ann smiled as she began to unwrap her parcels. "It's a chicken dish--chicken, onion, bacon, mushrooms, red wine."

"All the things that make life worth living," Joe said with a smile. "Can I help at all?"

"Yes," Ann said, preparing to blanch the bacon. "You can keep me company while I'm cooking."

"It would be my pleasure," Joe said. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Tell me about your travels," Ann said. "Clearly you haven't been in Rome all this time."

"No," Joe said. "I go wherever the reporting is good. Irving and I were just in Prague together, covering the recent governmental reforms. He's still there. I wired him that you were here, and he said to tell you, 'Hello, Smitty.'"

Ann laughed. "I always liked Irving. I still have his pictures."

"Do you? I wish I'd kept a few," Joe said.

Ann frowned at Joe. "Why didn't you?"

"You had to have them all," Joe said. "So you'd know we weren't trying to blackmail you."

Ann had been through the photos hundreds of times, particularly at difficult times in her life. "Then you never had any souvenirs."

Joe smiled. "With memories like mine, you don't need souvenirs."

Dear Joe. She wanted to go to him, but she was elbow-deep in raw chicken, which wouldn't have made the moment very romantic. "You changed the subject. Your travels?"

"Oh, my travels," Joe said, leaning back in his chair. "Well. Are you familiar with the Beatles?" He shook his head. "What am I talking about? You've probably met them."

"No, but I'm familiar with their music," Ann said, depositing the chicken in the pot and then moving to wash her hands. "Don't tell me your employer sent you to interview them."

"Not interview exactly," Joe said, "but I was sent to cover a leg of their world tour, in Australia and New Zealand."

"I was in New Zealand last year," Ann said. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"I liked it," Joe said. "I think my editor thought I needed a vacation, but I'm not sure how much of a vacation it was."

Ann smiled. "Are their fans as excited as they seem?"

"More," Joe said. "They lined the streets just hoping to get a look at those boys. Begging your pardon, but even royalty doesn't always draw that kind of attention."

"I'm glad," Ann said with a small shudder. "I don't mind being recognized but I like that I can get away sometimes, when I need to."

"I like that too," Joe said.

Ann added onions to the pot, keeping her eyes on the stove and not on Joe. "There's something I wanted to ask you."

"Yes," Joe said.

Ann smiled down at the chicken. "You haven't heard what it is yet."

"Do you think that's necessary?"

Ann hoped he would still want to say yes when he knew what she was asking. "I've thought a great deal about what I'd say if I saw you again. At first, I thought I'd ask you to transfer and work at your company's news bureau in my country, but I think you like change too much for that. Then I thought I'd ask you to marry me, but I didn't think you'd like the amount of ceremony involved. So my proposal is to leave my door open to you. When you're in my country, you'll always be welcome wherever I am. And when we're traveling, I can let you know so we won't miss each other if we're in the same place, or nearby. I might even be able to schedule my travels to see you more often." She finally looked at Joe.

Joe looked thoughtful. "That's a very modern arrangement."

He was going to say no. "I'm a very modern queen." Should she say more? Try to convince him? Maybe he didn't know what this would mean to her. "It's been a long time, Joe. I don't want to go years without seeing you again. And I don't intend to marry anyone who isn't in this room."

Joe stood. "And you're sure I'd say no to marriage?"

"I think it would be better if you didn't have to," Ann said. She didn't know what to do with the silence that followed, so she added the chicken stock and red wine to the pot to keep busy, lowering the heat.

Joe nodded, still looking thoughtful. "In that case, I accept your offer."

She took a sharp breath. "You do?"

"I told you the answer was yes, right at the beginning," Joe said. "I've been looking for you in cafés for years. I'll meet you anywhere."

Ann couldn't restrain herself any longer. She hurried to him, kissing him with the full force of everything she'd felt and hoped for since their last parting. His arms were strong around her, and in some ways, she felt as though she'd never left them.

"I'm glad you found me," Joe whispered to her.

"So am I," she whispered back, and kissed him again.

After a few minutes, Joe cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt, but won't your chicken burn?"

Ann laughed. "It has to simmer for half an hour. We have time."

"Oh," Joe said. "Good." And this time, he kissed her.

Dinner was excellent. Joe was warmly appreciative of the good meal, and thanked Ann several times for being willing to cook for him. But as Ann had hoped, dinner was almost beside the point, in the end. Somehow, in spite of the odds, they had returned to each other. And when they said goodbye this time, Ann knew she would be meeting Joe in Amsterdam in two weeks.

She couldn't wait.


End file.
